


Yours

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Chastity Device, Established Relationship, M/M, Master/Servant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11436822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Erestor is no ordinary consort, and Glorfindel loathes treating him like one.





	Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for tagulansahulyo’s “27. Key [...] for Glorfindel and Erestor,” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/162565904960/prompt-list-3). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He isn’t looking forward to leaving, even though he’ll only be gone for a few weeks, and he’s looking even less forward to his final night. He fully expects to step into empty chambers, as he so often does, and have to send one servant to fetch another, only to have a note brought back proclaiming that Erestor simply has too much to do. He could, of course, _order_ Erestor into his bed, and he knows that Erestor would choose that rather than termination, but Glorfindel’s never actually _demanded_ a single thing of his private consort. Instead, he lets Erestor thrive, extending far beyond the usual duties of warming his lord’s bed into arranging schedules, writing letters, even overseeing the running of the House. Erestor is worth his wages tenfold, but on nights like this, Glorfindel finds himself wishing Erestor weren’t _quite_ so talented.

But then, perhaps it’s for the best, because the thing Glorfindel dreads most is the preparation for the journey—what all other lords do to their consorts on a parting night. As much as the thought stirs familiar fantasies, he has no wish to actually broach the subject. Erestor’s moved far beyond that. It’ll be easier, Glorfindel thinks, to simply spend the night lonely and resume their normal course when he returns. 

He comes at last to the end of his wing, where he pushes his doors open into the bedchamber, dark now save for moonlight through the windows. He takes two steps inside, automatically shedding his gauntlets and cloak, before he realizes what awaits him.

The grand bed is against the far well, nestled between two windows, tall and wide and usually empty save for Erestor’s whims. Tonight, Glorfindel finds his consort already waiting, perched on neatly folded legs in only a silken dressing gown. Erestor’s dark hair is braided down one shoulder, his cheeks rosy and his eyes bright through the darkness. Glorfindel’s breath catches at the sight. He’s seen the entire city and knows almost all of the people, and yet he’s never seen another that comes even close to Erestor’s beauty. He’s told this to Ecthelion and earned only a fond laugh, but he knows it’s true. When he looks at Erestor, his heart nearly stops in his chest.

Then it _races_ , and he comes forward, forgetting the rest, only for Erestor to slide gracefully off the bed.

Erestor drifts towards him like the practiced consort he was employed to be, though that was by Glorfindel’s parents, and he himself has never required this. Erestor reaches Glorfindel without a word and begins deftly unfastening what’s left of his armour, helping ease it off, and setting it aside. Glorfindel stands still as Erestor attends to all of him, right down to his boots, which Glorfindel obligingly steps out of. When he stands in only his breeches and tunic, he dares to ask, “What is the occasion?”

Erestor dons a small, feline grin, more accustomed to him—he’s often stiff and coy, more difficult to get, though Glorfindel always lusts after him and is hardly complaining. Instead of answering, Erestor hooks a single finger in the hem of Glorfindel’s breeches, earning a hitched breath as he steps backwards, tugging Glorfindel with him.

At the edge of the bed, Erestor climbs onto it, and Glorfindel swiftly follows, only to be stopped with a finger against his lips. Then Erestor bids him, “Turn around, my lord.” And Glorfindel obeys.

Glorfindel is made to sit in the right position, near the edge of the bed, while Erestor settles behind him. Long fingers thread into Glorfindel’s free-flowing hair, unbraided today, for Erestor didn’t attend him so in the morning—the only way he ever gains his braids. Already working at it, Erestor idly comments, “Your hair is a mess. Perhaps I should twist it for the long journey tomorrow? You must tell me your preference, my lord.”

“Whatever you wish,” Glorfindel responds, not because of any uncertainty but simply because Erestor’s preferences will benefit him more—the only thing he cares for in his looks is that it pleases his consort. He’s often been told he’s the jewel of the Golden Flower, but most of those speakers never met Erestor, much less witnessed him in action. He weaves through Glorfindel’s hair, combing it with lithe fingers but not venturing a braid, with leisurely strokes that make Glorfindel want to purr. He’s always enjoyed the rare times he receives this privilege: Erestor makes it more a massage, something thoroughly _pleasurable_.

Erestor, as much as most think him cold, is quite skilled at giving Glorfindel pleasure. For a long while, Glorfindel just basks in that.

Then, when the curiosity has grown too great, he dares to ask, “Is that why you look so ravishing tonight? The final indulgence before you are free of me?”

The brushing abruptly stops. Slender hands clutch either of his shoulders, and he can feel Erestor’s head leaning over his shoulder. A kiss brushes his cheek, one that makes him shiver with _want_ , and Erestor purrs into his ear, “On the contrary, my prince, I wish to enjoy you while I may, for I will be denied such delights while you are gone.” A spongy tongue flicks over the shell, and Glorfindel groans as Erestor adds, low and rasping, “Clearly, I must savour my lord’s cock while I can.”

Glorfindel doesn’t move, only holds down his raging _lust_ , while Erestor climbs out from around him. Erestor slips delicately over the edge of the bed, falling down to the floor, where he settles between Glorfindel’s legs, even pulls them forward and pushes them wider, though Glorfindel rushes to help. Erestor has his breeches open in a heartbeat, and the next thing Glorfindel knows, Erestor is kissing his cock, licking a long line up from base to tip.

The use of Erestor’s mouth isn’t entirely unusual—often, Erestor will satiate him in such a manner just to be timely, to be able to flitter swiftly off to finish chores while Glorfindel melts in the afterglow. That makes it no less enjoyable. Glorfindel stares as hungrily as he always does while Erestor laps away at him, laving over his skin and swirling about the tip, worshipping it more than usual. Glorfindel could almost believe that Erestor is truly savouring it. He seems to treasure the taste, lets his eyes fall half closed and hunches his shoulders, moaning as he works, slicking Glorfindel up from all angles, only to dip below and nip on Glorfindel’s sac. This makes Glorfindel’s breath hitch, but Erestor knows his limits well and is careful with just how rough it is—a little bit for fun, not enough to hurt. He rolls Glorfindel’s balls around in his mouth, sucking at them, then returns to Glorfindel’s shaft.

When Erestor’s lips finally part around the head, Glorfindel has the horrible thought of going a step farther in his preparations. Other lords will lock their consorts securely, but what if Glorfindel were to cage Erestor’s _mouth_? He could easily have a muzzle made, even so last minute, to hide Erestor’s gorgeous lips from the rest of Gondolin, to keep any other’s cock from fucking his Erestor’s throat. Erestor should be, after all, for him alone, and if he wished, surely he could order that Erestor were kept for him.

But it’s only a fantasy, one he would never follow through with, and it’s wiped from his mind a second later when Erestor takes him inside.

Only years of practice keep Glorfindel’s hips steady. Erestor descends on him torturously slowly, a single hand around his base and the other fondling his sac, while Erestor gently sucks more and more into his mouth. He has to stretch wide for it, careful with his teeth and an expert with his tongue. Glorfindel is long and very thick—he always plugs Erestor completely, leaving no room left at all—even when he comes in Erestor’s mouth and orders Erestor not to swallow yet, there are no cracks for it to escape from, and it only dribbles out Erestor’s lips when he lets it. It hasn’t proven much of a problem: he’s always liked the feeling of Erestor swallowing around him, and even more the thought of Erestor drinking him down, his seed pooling in Erestor’s stomach. He has dreams of drenching Erestor in it, bathing him in it. But it’s hard enough to get cum in Erestor’s hair without Erestor starting a fuss, so it remains, like so many things, only in Glorfindel’s mind.

This is enough. More than enough. Erestor takes him down to the very back, until Glorfindel is entirely stuffed down his throat. Any other would be choking, but Erestor is skilled in all he does. He takes only a short moment to adjust to the feeling it, letting his body grow used to housing Glorfindel’s cock again, and then he begins to move of his own accord. He slides back and pushes forward, bobbing on and off with slick efficiency and Glorfindel’s head thin with desire. Erestor’s mouth is tight, wet, stiflingly hot, and best of all is Erestor’s flushed face: a sight which Glorfindel tries to memorize for the journey ahead. He knows his hand will never suffice, not after this. He wishes he could take Erestor with him. But the Golden Flower has grown too dependent on Erestor’s workings, and consorts are not brought on the road.

He could come from this alone, usually does, and would, if it weren’t for Erestor, suddenly pulling off. Glorfindel’s cock falls out with a wet squelching noise, and Erestor gives it a final, affectionate lick before rising to his feet again. Glorfindel just watches, breathless and hungry. This would be one of those nights where he’d throw Erestor to the floor and _ravage him_ , if not for the fact that Erestor clearly has his own plans. He plucks the sash that holds his robes together, untwisting it and letting it fall while his gaze burns into Glorfindel’s. Then he peels the white fabric from his shoulders and lets it tumble to the floor. His naked body is exquisite, something Glorfindel hurriedly devours in detail, though he’s seen it many times. Never enough. Erestor places one slender knee on the bed, then hikes right up into Glorfindel’s lap, where he rises over Glorfindel’s cock. He must have himself prepared, because he reaches down to position the head of Glorfindel’s cock between his legs, rubbing along until Glorfindel can feel the fluttering hole of his ass. Erestor places his other hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder for support, then begins to sink down.

As soon as it’s breached, his eyes closed, lips red from use and going wide, gasping as his body clenches. Glorfindel grits his teeth, fighting back a groan, and shoots both hands to Erestor’s lithe hips. He digs into them harder than he means to, but Erestor’s never minded his marks—provided they’re kept where robes can cover. Glorfindel then thinks of painting Erestor from head to foot, sucking pink circles into his throat and scratching along his thighs, biting his shoulders and even his cheek: letting all of Gondolin know that through Glorfindel’s absence, Erestor is still _his_. He wishes he could just scrawl his name across Erestor’s chest, right over his heart. But Erestor would only shake his head, smile and call Glorfindel silly, then wash it off the next morning. He’s too pragmatic. In moments like this, Glorfindel feels _feral_.

Glorfindel longs to thrust up into Erestor’s body, but he lets Erestor adjust, pushing slowly down, and it’s needed—Erestor is wildly tight, as taut as he is tense, probably made more so for his attitude. But Glorfindel likes him that way. Glorfindel likes Erestor just the way he is. Glorfindel lets Erestor take his time to the base of Glorfindel’s cock, finally fully impaled, plush thighs seated in Erestor’s lap, and then Glorfindel can’t take it any longer, and he grabs Erestor’s chin for a kiss. He doesn’t care where Erestor’s mouth has been. He thrusts his tongue into Erestor’s mouth and sucks Erestor’s into his, while Erestor clenches and adjusts around him.

It’s several kisses before Erestor finally lifts up, rising as far as possible before dropping down again, and his weight, though slight, does the rest—drives him right on, hard enough that Glorfindel breaks the kiss to moan. Erestor whines headily and clutches tighter to Glorfindel but clearly struggles with himself. He licks his lips, forces his eyes open, and gets that cute, determined look across his pretty face that first made Glorfindel fall in love with him. Then he proceeds to ride Glorfindel’s cock all on his own, hard and fast and utterly merciless, as only Erestor could be. His gaze bores into Glorfindel’s while he goes: the two of them irrevocably connected.

Glorfindel soon feels himself building again. His hips break from his control, jerking up and tossing Erestor with him. Erestor makes a startled choking noise, gasping as he’s filled, and pushes savagely at Glorfindel’s chest for it—Glorfindel hits the bed, now fully laid out across it, while Erestor holds his stomach down and does the rest. Erestor looks beautiful riding him. The starlight doesn’t do Erestor justice. Nothing does. His naked body has begun to bead with sweat, flushed in several places, lungs beating hard. Still, he stares into Glorfindel’s eyes. His noises are a steady song of desperation and delight. Glorfindel endures it as long as he can.

Then he knows he’s at his end, and this isn’t how he wants it to end, not yet—he grabs Erestor’s hips, digs in tight, and abruptly rolls them over. Erestor barely has time to squeak in surprise, and then Glorfindel has him pinned against the mattress, legs in the air and thighs parted wide around Glorfindel’s middle. Glorfindel bears over Erestor on all fours and proceeds to pound down enough to make the bed creak and groan, the headboard slapping forcefully against the wall. Erestor pants for air and whimpers, even arching up to moan, one hand reaching up to clutch at the wood and the other draping around Glorfindel’s shoulders. Glorfindel fills him with another kiss, even though his noises are such a shame to stifle, because kissing Erestor while making love is _everything_.

Erestor is so much more than just his servant. Erestor’s become integral to the running of his house, and he knows Erestor is the keeper of his heart. Glorfindel lets that be known through his body. He gives Erestor everything he has, and for once, despite all that tight control, Erestor is the first to scream around their mouths and burst across Glorfindel’s stomach. Glorfindel had meant to stroke him at the end, bring him off close together, but all Glorfindel can do now is milk out the remains. He reaches between them anyway to help pump Erestor’s cock, and Erestor whines louder and ruins his tunic. 

He comes only a minute later, roaring Erestor’s name and slamming into Erestor’s channel. He fills Erestor with everything he has and humps Erestor right through it, lost in a slew of sloppy kisses.

It isn’t until there’s nothing left that he finally starts to slow, though he remains fully seated inside, and collapses when he’s done, heavy and sweaty atop Erestor’s delicate frame. Erestor grunts but says no more.

Glorfindel murmurs, “You are _beautiful_.” He means beyond just the surface. But he’s too satiated and dizzy now to express it, so that will have to do. Erestor is perceptive anyway, intelligent beyond all things, and surely he already knows.

For a good, long while, they stay like that, and Glorfindel thinks they’ll fall asleep this way, sticky and entangled, but of course Erestor eventually pushes at him. Glorfindel lifts up enough to allow him release, even slipping free from his ass, leaving Erestor to wince and leak onto the bed. Glorfindel isn’t particularly surprised when Erestor climbs out of it right afterwards—he almost always wants to clean up after lovemaking. 

Instead, when he next returns into Glorfindel’s field of vision, he carries the very device that Glorfindel had avoided mentioning—the one he’d even forgotten when in Erestor’s arms. He should’ve known that Erestor would remember, and conduct _all_ the duties expected of him, whether the expectations come from Glorfindel or the city. He climbs onto the bed, holding the black leather and metal fastenings in his hands, and asks simply, “Would you wish to put this on me now or in the morning?”

Glorfindel lets out a tired sigh. And he thinks on it—of seeing the dark straps bound around Erestor’s waist, between his trim thighs, the plate encasing his cock and barring entry to his rear, fastened in the front with a little lock. Glorfindel is expected to take the key. It’s a comfort to most lords, they tell him, when on the road, to look at it and think of their consorts waiting for them, as unfulfilled as they remain. But Glorfindel never wanted Erestor to feel lonely in the slightest. 

After a long war against his own base desires, he mutters, “No.” Erestor tilts his head, lifting one dark brow, though the sternness of the usual expression is somewhat diminished by his nakedness and flush. Glorfindel explains, “You are not a piece of property to be owned and caged when your master is gone. You will make your own decisions in my absence.”

He expected, perhaps, a curt nod of approval. But instead, Erestor only looks at him strangely, then retires the device to the nightstand. He then settles back down onto the bed, both of them still over the now-rumpled covers, and he silently accepts Glorfindel’s languid kiss. It’s several minutes before Glorfindel has the energy to tuck them both under the blankets, and Erestor sleeps close within his arms.

* * *

In the morning, Glorfindel arrives to the guard in pristine condition—Erestor’s braided his hair, fastened his armour, and even seen to it that his sword is polished and sharpened. He has only a few minutes to wait, standing with his horse beside him and the other lords watching Salgant on a slow journey towards them, too distracted by a conversation with Maeglin to move as swiftly as he should. It gives him a chance for a final goodbye to Erestor, and he has no qualms about kissing his consort before them all. They said similar goodbyes to their lovers, whether servants or spouses, and Glorfindel allows himself to show his full sorrow at their parting. Erestor merely gives him another kiss and reminds him, “You will return swiftly, my lord. And I will be waiting here.”

Glorfindel nods and tries to tell himself that. He’s normally the more cheerful one. Perhaps that’s why Erestor wryly grins at him, enjoying the irony. 

When Salgant’s finally arrived, Glorfindel mounts his horse, and Erestor suddenly passes him a folded piece of parchment, small but strangely heavy. Glorfindel takes it, but then Egalmoth is marching forward, and he has to follow. With a nod, Glorfindel is moving, and Erestor is left standing there, watching him go. 

It isn’t until they’ve reached the mountains’ feet that Glorfindel unwraps the little parcel, which proves only a single note with a key stitched to the bottom. 

It reads: _To every kind of my love._

Glorfindel knows exactly what the key is for. And the gesture warms him as much as the words, allowing him to smile again, and look wholly forward to his return.


End file.
